


The Bat Out of Hell

by Tim_Jim



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Body Horror, Detective Noir, F/M, Horror, POV First Person, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tim_Jim/pseuds/Tim_Jim
Summary: Commissioner James Gordon just got his first case since he was elected, and it's one out of his nightmares.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Leslie Thompkins





	The Bat Out of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, hope you enjoy. I have lots going on rn, so I don't know how often I'll work on it. But, I swear to you, I'll finish it.

This is it then, isn’t it? 

This is what my dutiful life as a police commissioner would get me, a case so strange that most of my officers believe the only reasonable explanation is the paranormal. I was never a superstitious man, mind you, but as I look at the scene before me, I’m beginning to be unable to find a much more logical answer myself. An electric cable is twisted around a man’s foot, he’s anywhere from ten to fifteen feet off the ground. He looks like he’s in his early twenties.

His clothes, what little he has left on, are torn and scratched up, like he was attacked by a lion or tiger in the middle of Gotham City, and nowhere near the zoo. His body is covered in scratches and, from what down here looks like, human bite marks. I can see a little bit of his intestines spilling out from the wounds on his lower torso. Despite this, he’s still… Alive? 

“Hey, this guy’s still got life in ‘im!” I yell back to the other cops who are still trying to make sense of everything. 

We have to stand on the roof of a detective’s pick-up truck to reach the poor bastard. Once we finally get him down, we lay him in the bed of the truck while we wait for an ambulance. He’s barley conscious, he entered shock a long time ago, but he manages to sputter out a fraction of word, “B-b-bat.”

I think it’s a fraction of he’s trying to say, at least. I don’t see how bats, whether they be flying mammals or hitting baseballs, have any relevance here. 

Finally, the paramedics arrive. They pull him off of that truck and wheel him into the ambulance. I’ve seen men survive worse wounds when I was in the army, still though, it’ll be a rough recovery for him. 

“Gordon!” A detective, named Harvey Bullock, calls to me, “Me n’ Montoya are gonna stay with the victim until he wakes up, maybe he’ll be able to tell us what the hell happened.”

“Alright, call me when he wakes up,” I reply as I climb off of the truck.

“Of course,” Harvey says as he walks towards the ambulance with the short Montoya in toe. 

Well, I guess it’s paper work and then home for me. Not to mention the long process of trying to make sense of what happened on this street tonight. The only lead I have is ‘Bat.’ And that might not mean anything at all, that might just be the random gibberish of a man whose brain was losing blood and oxygen. It’s late, I should go get that paper work finished and go home, maybe I’ll be able to begin to make sense of this in the morning.

Later, I arrive at my home. Being a commissioner doesn’t seem to get me much more than the title and more responsibility, because my family is still living in a rundown apartment in a building with a broken elevator. I can’t complain too much though, we are living in a neighborhood with a pretty low crime rate, well, as low as you can get without living in a neighborhood that has a ‘Wayne,’ sign on every building. 

As I walk up these creaky stairs that I have many times before, and will many times again, my mind still lingers on the man hung from a power cable. Human bite marks? Animal-like scratches? Bat? There’s this kind of rule to life that some older cops have: Every cop gets one unsolvable case, whether you like it or not, there’s gonna be one impossible case that’ll keep you up at night for years to come. Some poor cops in London had Jack the Ripper, some out in San Francisco had the Zodiac Killer, the sooner you accept the insolvability of this case once you get it, the better. 

Maybe, this is mine. Maybe this is my unsolvable case that I’ll tell stories about to new detectives over a beer. No. No, I’ve had a good streak of solving cases my entire career, and I don’t plan on letting that streak drop after I just became commissioner.

I’ve reached my apartment door. Walking inside I find the same old little apartment. There’s a note on the refrigerator: Jim, there’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge. Leslie always makes the best spaghetti. Too bad I’ll have to eat it cold, if I use the microwave, I’ll wake everyone the apartment up. I take the spaghetti out of the fridge, grab a fork, and sit at the kitchen table. I’d save it for the morning, when I can warm it up, but I am starving. The spaghetti is, well, cold. The meatballs are still good though. 

As I chew on a piece of meatball, I notice Barbara’s homework on the kitchen table. She’s learning about animal and plant cells, I feel like fifth grade was earlier than when I learned about that stuff, but Barbara is a very smart little girl, she’s already reading at a freshman level. 

I finish my cold spaghetti and put it back in the fridge. I’m walking down the hall, towards my bedroom, but I stop a Barbara’s door, it’s cracked open a bit. Peaking inside, I see her, fast asleep in her bed. This is the only way I’ve seen her the past few weeks; besides the pictures the Leslie sends me, that is. I’m just hoping to find the time off soon to spend time with her, but I guess I should have expected this from becoming commissioner. 

I pull my head away from Barbara’s door and walk to my bedroom, where Leslie is already asleep. Taking off my coat and tie, I fall into the bed myself. I’m so tired, I don’t even bother getting undressed. 

I’m woken up by the buzzing of my cell phone. I check the clock, it’s seven in the morning. 

“Hello?” I speak into my phone with a tired tone.

“Jim,” I hear Harvey’s voice through the phone, “Get down to Wayne Hospital, victim’s getting out of surgery soon, should be able to talk. We checked his ID, guy’s name is, Isaac Carrano.” 

“Alright, I’m on my way now.”

I jump out of bed and use body spray in place of a shower. I don’t like that I’m doing it either, but I’ve gotta hurry. After scurrying around to find my tie and coat, I rush out into the kitchen, where Leslie is getting Barbara ready for school. 

“Good morning, dad!” I hear Barbara chirp.

“Good morning, sweetie,” I say after kissing her on the forehead. I begin to fiddle with my tie as I continue, “I’m sorry, but I’m in a rush, got some new evidence at work.” 

Leslie spins around from making Barbara’s lunch for a moment to help with my tie. Once she’s done, she gives me a worried look, one that I’ve become rather accustomed to in the last few weeks, “Good luck, Jim.”

“Good luck, dad!” Barbara chirps excitedly again. 

I throw on my coat as I walk to the door, “You too, Barbara. Have a good day at school.”

I leave the apartment.

When I arrive at the hospital, a large group of victims is being wheeled into the emergency room. Judging by their injuries, looks like they were in a traffic accident, judging by the number of people, I bet they were on a bus. Dodging the many patients on stretchers, I hurry to Harvey in the lobby.

“He said anything yet?” I ask.  
Harvey checks his watch before replying, “No, but he’ll be out of surgery in fifteen minutes. C’mon, Montoya is waiting for us in his room.”

I follow Harvey to the elevators, and ride them to the fifth floor. After a few more minutes of walking, we arrive at Isaac’s room, where Detective Montoya sits in her standard uniform. She stands up at attention when I enter.

“Commissioner Gordon,” She says as she stands as straight as a pole.

“Montoya, you’ve known me for five years, you can call me Jim.” I say as I lean against the wall next to the room window. 

“Sorry, sir… I mean, Jim.” 

I never liked hospitals. The smell of rubbing alcohol and those bed sheets, it’s like I can feel the needle in my arm. About fifteen minutes pass before Isaac rolled in, and then another twenty as we wait for his anesthesia to wear off. 

“Wha- hey, who’re you?” Isaac says groggily. 

Harvey stands at the foot of the bed, “Mr. Carrano, I’m Detective Harvey Bullock,” He gestures toward Montoya and I, “These are Commissioner James Gordon, and Detective Renée Montoya. We’re wondering if you can give us any information about who assaulted you last night.” 

Isaac eyes each one of us down. He thinks for a moment before sighing. “Am I, uh, in trouble for something.” Isaac says, avoiding eye contact. 

Harvey and I exchange glances. “Not yet, no,” I say, stepping forward, “We want to know about the person who assaulted… or, tried to kill you last night.” 

Isaac eyes me up and down again. This guy must not have the best impression of cops. Can’t blame him, up until a year ago, the GCPD was practically another branch of the mob. 

“It, uh,” Isaac finally speaks. He stops and thinks for a moment again. “No, no. You’ll throw me in Arkham. I don’t want to press charges. I’ll just let bygones be bygones and move on with my life.”

A near audible silence fills the room as we stare at Isaac in shock and awe. Montoya steps forward and puts into words what we’re all thinking, “Mr. Carrano, you were found dangling from a power cord with scratch and bite marks all over your body. This goes beyond a simple case of assault, whoever did this to you is a threat to public safety.” 

Isaac completely ignores Montoya and looks at me, “Why’s the commissioner here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be making one sided bets with the mayor?”

“Mr. Carrano.” Harvey says sternly. 

“Just seems a little below to work on a case like this.” Isaac continues. 

“Mr. Carrano, why won’t you just tell us about the person who assaulted you?” I finally say.

“Because it wasn’t a person!” Isaac exclaims. It’s almost like he let it slip out. He puts his face in his hands as he realizes what he just said. I can hear him mumbling to himself, “Oh, God, I really said it. Fuck it, looks like you’re already going to the madhouse.” Isaac lifts his head out of his hands and continues to tells us what happened while on the verge of tears, “It wasn’t a person, alright? It, it was a thing, a monster. Had these big wings, flew down and grabbed me, scratched and bit me all up. Damn thing looked like a, like a bat.”

So, that’s what he meant by bat. He’s gone through a lot of trauma, his brain probably cooked up a big bat creature to deal with it. I’ll admit, there’s plenty of strange things in this case, but bat creatures? C’mon. Harvey, Montoya, and I look at each other with the same ‘this guy must be crazy’ kinda look.

“What were you doing in Old Gotham so late anyway?” Montoya asks. The color drains from Isaac’s face after the words leave Montoya’s lips.  
“W-what does that have to do with anything?” He starts, “I just told you a creature straight out of a Cronenberg movie tried to kill me, and you want to know more about my fucking evening stroll?” 

“An evening stroll at three in the morning?” Montoya continues. Isaac’s getting nervous, and he’s barley hiding it. With a name like Carrano, I wouldn’t be surprised if was doing some mafia work. But if he was, a bat monster is one hell of a way to cover it up.

“Hey, fuck you. I told you everything I know about that fucking monster, if you want to interrogate me, you can arrest me, if you’re not going to, get the hell out of my room!” Isaac declares. 

We exchange glances once again, silently agreeing that Isaac isn’t going to give any more information. We all exit the room. “Montoya, could you look through our records and see if we have anything on Isaac or anyone in his family,” I say as we walk to the elevators. 

“That’s what I was thinking, sir, I mean Gordon, I mean…” Montoya pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before finishing her thought, “Jim. If he’s in a family, this might be a mob affair.”

“Great minds think alike,” I joke as we walk onto the elevator, “And, if it’s going to give you that much trouble, you can call me whatever feels most comfortable.”

“Thank you, sir,” Montoya replies as the elevator doors close. I tell Montoya and Harvey I’ll see them later in the lobby, then, I head to my car. On the highway, it’s another misty morning in Gotham. We’ve made a small breakthrough in the case, so my insolvable case anxiety is going away. If this is just mafia business, it shouldn’t be much to worry about. Of course, the mafia’s still a problem, but at least there isn’t some serial killer or ‘bat monster’ loose in the city. Of all the ways he could have lied, he went for the monster movie route? He’s creative, I’ll give him that. And- what the…?

There’s the twisted and mangled remains of what used to be a bus of the side off the road. This must be the accident those people were coming from. Looks like it drove off the freeway above the exit and rolled down the hill, towards the river. Hit the rocks on the bank, and well, turned into that heap of twisted metal and warped steel. I’m not a superstitious man, never have been, but something deep inside me is telling me, if anything were to be an omen, it’d be that.


End file.
